


I Just Want To Help This Douchebag That I Hate

by BadHidingSpot



Series: Bradburry 2016 [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadHidingSpot/pseuds/BadHidingSpot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sequel to Precious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want To Help This Douchebag That I Hate

Stiles knew that this Derek Hale guy was going to be big but he somehow didn’t think he’d be this Big. He towers over Stiles even though the height difference itself isn’t all that great. Stiles has had a growth spurt of sorts in his hair and his haunches and is now taller than his Dad. But Derek gives off the impression of being Big. Of being massive and in control and the top of the food chain by rights. There’s something in the way he moves and commands himself and others with just a twitch of those powerful eyebrows. Or maybe it’s that the guy clearly lifts and not just to be ironic. He takes lifting seriously. He’s probably addicted to lifting. He probably lifts cars just because he can. Stiles imagines Derek lifting him but doesn’t get too far in the fantasy when Derek clears his throat.  
“What? Sorry? Did I say something?” Stiles has a brief panic that he asked to be held against a wall by this Leather Clad Man of Danger.  
“No. You haven’t said anything. You asked me here and I met you and you’ve just been quiet.”  
“That’s unusual for me,” Stiles forces out a chuckle of awkward fear, “I’m usually pretty talkative.”  
“Your voicemail gave that impression.”  
“I should change it right? Too long? But there’s so much to say.”  
“Not really,” Derek mutters.  
“Well sure. You’d say that. Your voicemail is just ‘this is Derek’. People might not even know that you weren’t really on the line. I definitely didn’t. Hence the long talking.”  
“Of course they know I’m not there. If I answer the phone I say ‘hello’ first.” Stiles cocked his head trying to figure out where to even start with this guy. Before a “My Fair Lady” fanatsy could form in his head Derek spoke again. “You said you needed to talk to me about my cousin or something? My long lost cousin?”  
“Right,” Stiles snapped his fingers happy to be on a non-sexy task, “Jackson. Whittemore. His name is Jackson Whittemore.”  
“I got that. What about him?”  
“Well he, um, exists,” Stiles went on but Derek was piercing him with a gaze that Stiles couldn’t really read. “What I mean is that he was adopted and your uncle’s his father and he tried to meet him and it didn’t go well.”  
“Peter didn’t tell me about it.”  
“I have the adoption papers with me if you need proof.” Stiles pulled them from his messenger bag and handed them to Derek.  
“Sure, but that’s not what I mean.” Derek flipped through the manilla folder evidently finding everything inside of it to be in order. “I absolutely believe it’s possible that my uncle has a child out of wedlock. I actually find it hard to believe he only has one.”  
“Gross.”  
“You’re telling me,” Derek scoffs and sets the folder down locking eyes with Stiles again. Stiles wishes he hadn’t done that. Checking out Derek is much easier when a heavy glare is not placed on him. “I mean that Peter didn’t tell me that he was meeting his kid. Or that he had met him.”  
“Right well, that’s the part that went ass up. Jackson sort of tried to meet him but then Peter sort of ignored him. I don’t have a ton of details.”  
“You don’t have details but you came to me? What do you think I can do? If he won’t talk to your friend then-”  
“Woah woah woah!” Stiles throws his hands up and waves them in protest. “Let’s not throw around words like ‘friend’ okay? Jackson is merely a...um…” Stiles grapples for a word and finally picks, “team mate. Of sorts. And anyway he’s been weird and depressing and mopey. And a good friend of mine, his girlfriend, has made it very clear that this mess is somewhat my fault and that I have to fix it.”  
“Okay,” Derek says patiently, “and you’re fixing it by….doing what?”  
“Contacting you,” Stiles explained.  
“And I am supposed to?”  
Stiles was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times but no words erupted. “Help me? Please?”  
Derek let out a long sigh. “This guy is not even your friend? And you called a stranger out here to help him get closure. Sorry. I don’t buy it.” Derek stands and Stiles fumbles across the table to grab at his arm.  
“Wait! I’m sorry! Wait! Please don’t go,” Stiles is aware of how desperate and weird he sounds. He’s always aware of Derek’s deadly gaze burning holes into the spot where STiles has his hands wrapped around him. Even so, Stiles does not let go. God this guy is firm. “I just wanted to know if you could talk to Peter. Get him to meet Jackson. Maybe give him a little peace of mind.”  
“Trust me,” Derek makes no move to remove Stiles’ grip, “he’s better off not knowing Peter.”  
“Well he won’t believe that until he meets him.”  
“I’ll talk to him,” Derek agrees, “but you have to do something for me.”  
“Like-like what?” Stiles can feel his eyes blinking rapidly like a forest dear in an animated film.  
“Tell me the truth. Why are you doing this?”  
Stiles is so dumbfounded by this simple request that the only thing he can say to Derek, despite the fact that it’s most definitely going to get him punched in the face, that he tells the truth. “I thought you were hot. I wanted to meet you.”  
Eyebrows go up.  
Brow furrows in confusion.  
Head turns left to right searching the room.  
Eyes lock on Stiles again.  
Mouth opens.  
Mouth closes.  
Gulp.  
Awkward head pat on Stiles and then Derek lowers himself into his seat again. Stiles is aware that he still has a grip on Derek but he can’t let go now because that would be somehow more awkward. Or maybe it wouldn’t, it’s just that Stiles doesn’t want to let go. He’s just so damn firm. Derek takes out his phone, which Stiles thinks is a switch blade at first--partly because it’s a flip phone and partly because he would not be surprised if Derek were the type of guy to stab all his problems away--and dials. He’s quick, to the point, something Stiles notes about Derek’s personality and he hangs up again.  
“He’ll have him over for dinner. But you should probably come. As back up or support. Text me your address--”  
“That thing can receive a text?”  
“And I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”  
“Wait, what?”  
Derek takes his arm back and stands again. “Wear something nice to dinner. I’ll pick you up at seven.”  
“No I heard you I just-” but Derek is already walking away and Stiles just sits there trying to remember his own address.


End file.
